


Nothing But Silence

by liveyourstory



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Mention of Character Death, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liveyourstory/pseuds/liveyourstory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve blames himself for Bucky's death; Peggy helps distract him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This story involves flashbacks to the train scene in CA: TFA and the effect it has on Steve, please don't read if you think you'll find that distressing!

Steve’s not surprised Peggy is the one to find him. The rest of the Commandoes had been quiet on the journey back to London, offering their condolences in the form of hands squeezing his shoulder

_his hand outstretched, too much distance between them and his right arm is trembling, metal pressing bruises into his side where he clings to the carriage wall and prays it isn’t ripped free before he can grab Bucky’s hand, the wind steals his breath and screams in his ears and he’s reaching out as far as he can but it’s not enough, he’s never enough to help Bucky, too much distance between them_   _– "grab my hand!" –_   _but he keeps trying, reaches, strains, and then…_

in a way that would have been painful before, but is barely noticeable now. They invite him to a bar, “to remember Barnes”, but he wants to forget: he shakes his head and they accept the refusal without question, without offence. Everyone grieves differently.

But Peggy…no nonsense, determined Peggy…he’d known she wouldn’t take no for an answer, even though he’d left a note:  _I need to be alone_. When he hears her picking her way through the debris he considers telling her to go away, or leaving through one of the other German-made exits so he’s not just sitting there when she makes her way to what had been the pub’s back room mere weeks ago. He doesn’t. He finds he doesn’t mind that she tracked him down, and so quickly – although not fast enough to find him before he’s drunk the majority of a bottle of wine.

He’s the first one to speak, but not because the silence makes him feel awkward and like he needs to fill it with any words that come to mind. For once he doesn’t embarrass himself by rambling at her and getting so flustered by her bemused expression that he stammers. He’s proud of himself for his even tone and coherent comments. He doesn’t care that he sounds like he has a cold and that his eyes are rimmed in red; it’s not judgement in her eyes, or pity. He can take her sympathy, offered in such a typically Peggy way that it almost doesn’t feel like that’s what it is.

They talk, and she says what he needs to hear, even if he can’t accept it yet. He tells her his plan, the decision he’d come to about three and a half tumblers ago, and he hadn’t been expecting anything different, but hearing she will support him makes him feel far better than he cares to admit.

He lifts his hand

_the first glass shatters in his grip, belatedly tight around the memory of fingers. He watches the nicks on his skin heal over and thinks, why can’t everything be fixed so easily? He leaves the blood to dry on his hand and takes another glass._

to finish his drink; he might as well, it would be a shame to waste it. But when Peggy leans across the table and touches her fingers to his wrist, he lowers it again. She doesn’t say, “I think you’ve had enough” and he knows she knows these last few gulps won’t make any difference. Perhaps that’s why she does it.

This time when Peggy leaves the pub Steve doesn’t watch her go with a longing expression. Her left arm is looped around his right, her other hand curved around his bicep, fingertips inches apart whereas before they would have overlapped. They help each other make their way through the ruins and back out into the claustrophobic, dusty darkness of the city, and when they turn left and start to walk towards Piccadilly, Steve doesn’t have to shorten his stride for Peggy to keep up. She leads him as much as he her and he’s not even really paying attention to where they’re going. Eventually, though, he realises he doesn’t recognise the street she’s leading him down.

He falters and slows, feels the pull on his arm as Peggy keeps going, not expecting him to stop. “Uh, Peggy? I don’t— my digs are back that way.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

“I know.” Peggy looks up at him and he can’t read her expression (not that he can most of the time; she’s the jigsaw puzzle he has the patience but not the opportunity to figure out) but it makes him shiver anyway. “But you’re walking me home. After all, it’s terribly late. Who knows what might happen to a girl out by herself?”

Steve snorts a laugh and falls into step with her again. Only an idiot would try and attack Peggy Carter; she’s probably more formidable than Steve himself is. She clearly wants his company for a reason, though, and he’s not about to refuse. Not when every step closer to her lodgings is a second he doesn’t have to spend alone in the room he usually rents with Bucky.

“You’ll come in, of course.” She says when they reach a small florist and she leads him down the alley alongside it to her door. An order, not a request, and Steve obeys willingly. He can almost feel Bucky’s elbow nudging his ribs, see the knowing smirk his friend never bothered to hide, even around dames—  _women_. He can imagine what Bucky would be saying right now if he knew Steve was in Agent Carter’s home, but it doesn’t make him blush. It fills him with loneliness, not anticipation.

He follows Peggy up the stairs and into the room she calls home, immediately feeling like he’s taking up the whole space. It’s a pre-serum-Steve-sized room, with just a bed, a basin to wash at, and a tiny kitchenette. Few decorations. This is not Peggy’s home, he realises; it’s Agent Carter’s rented lodgings. The room could belong to anybody or nobody and Steve’s not sure what he expected, but this isn’t it.

“There’s no chair to offer, I’m afraid.” Peggy tells him as she turns on the lamp and makes sure the blackout curtains are in place.

Steve sits heavily on the foot of the bed, looking around again even though he’s pretty sure he saw everything on his first glance. “So this is where you live?” He asks for want of something to say, because he doesn’t want to presume but he’s really not sure what’s going on here.

“When I’m in the city.” Peggy replies as she removes her coat and hangs it on a hook on the back of her door. Steve figures that explains why the room is so sparse; Peggy’s not exactly here a lot.

He watches her take some things from her coat pocket and recognises one of the items as the note he’d left on his cot. He gestures towards it as she dumps the lot on the bedside table. “So you did see it.”

“Yes.” Peggy glances down at the crumpled paper, then back to Steve. “But I noticed you said you  _needed_  to be alone, not that you  _wanted_  to be.”

“I don’t mind.” He tries for a smile but it feels more like a grimace.

“Good.” Peggy moves to stand in front of him – if his knees weren’t held so stiffly together she would be between them – and he cranes his neck to look up at her

_Bucky’s face upturned, desperate, wide eyes staring up at Steve as he tries to hold on and tries to reach, but Steve’s fingers are still too far away…_

“Steve? Steve!”

_“Nooooo!”_

“Steve, look at me.”

He can feel Peggy’s hands on his face, not trying to force him to look up again, but grounding him. She sits next to him, one hand still cupping his cheek, and waits for him to turn his face towards her.

When he feels like he can breathe again and he’s blinked away the tears, he does. He wants to explain that he did listen to her earlier words, but the loss is too fresh and his guilt too overwhelming to do anything but blame himself. She shakes her head before he can even open his mouth, though, and then she’s leaning in and before he can fully register what’s happening, her lips brush against his. It’s not the way he expected her to kiss, but it occurs to him that she thinks he’s in a fragile state and doesn’t want to push him too far. It probably doesn’t help his case when he lets out a small whimper, nor when he feels her start to sit back and he follows, mouth seeking hers until her hand on his shoulder stops him.

He blinks, feeling a little dazed, and gives Peggy a questioning look. She doesn’t say anything, but her hand leaves his shoulder again: her fingertips trace along his cheekbone, up and behind the curve of his ear, and through his hair. She’s not pushing him away so he takes that as encouragement, closing the gap between them to kiss her again. It’s nothing like the last time he was kissed, when the girl – he should feel bad for not remembering her name but it’s an experience he tries not to think about at all – was all hands and tongue and it was all he could do to keep up. He’s still not leading this kiss, but with Peggy it’s less of a battle.

This time when Peggy pulls back, Steve lets her – mostly so he can catch his breath. Her fingers stroke through his hair again and she looks at him in that way she has, where he can't tell if it's fondness or exasperation, gathering her thoughts before she speaks. "This isn't the solution. I hope you know that." She speaks lightly but firmly, and Steve hears what she isn't saying. A night with Peggy won't make his pain disappear; it would only have the short-term effect he'd searched for at the bottom of that bottle.

"I know. But I would want this even if--"

_"Grab my hand!" - There's a moment where nothing happens; Steve sees the handrail snap off but Bucky seems to hang in mid-air as Steve's fingers close around nothing, and then he's falling..._

He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, leaning into Peggy's hand when it returns to his face, the pad of her thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheekbone. “I just don’t want to think about it, for one night.”

He looks at Peggy again in time to see her nod. “I understand.” She says softly, before lowering her gaze to his uniform. Steve looks down too, watching as she starts to unfasten the buttons of his jacket, her fingers deft and quick so she’s already on the third one by the time he says, “I can—“

“Let me.”

She makes short work of it and pushes the jacket off his shoulders, climbing off the bed to hang it next to her coat while Steve bends down to unlace his boots. When he looks up again Peggy has already removed her own jacket and tie and he pauses, surprised by her haste. She just smiles at him and returns to the bed, tugging him down as she lies back until they’re stretched out alongside each other.

He always thought he’d be too nervous to do anything when he finally got to be in this position, that he would be utterly clueless and just end up making a fool of himself. And it’s there, the nerves and mild panic, like a dull buzz at the back of his mind, but it’s not overwhelming him. It probably helps that it’s Peggy he’s with; she’s not too shy to lead him, or judgemental of his inexperience, and that turns out to be what boosts his confidence.

He still glances at her almost warily as his hands come up between them to undo her blouse. He remembers how swollen Hodge’s nose had been, all those months ago, when he was stupid enough to disrespect Peggy. Steve’s pretty sure she’s not going to punch him, but it doesn’t feel right to just assume he’s got the go-ahead. As it happens, Peggy is too busy mirroring his movements to notice any hesitations, and Steve’s shirt falls open before he’s even halfway done with Peggy’s buttons.

Her hands are cool – still chilly from being outside – as they slip beneath his undershirt and he falters, squirming as her fingertips ghost across his skin. He can feel his heartbeat starting to race already and he takes a deep breath before unfastening the last button, pulling back when Peggy sits up to shrug out of the blouse. Her body arches in a way he can’t ignore so he braces his weight on one elbow, his hand reaching out to cover her stomach. He smiles when he feels her muscles tremble beneath his gentle strokes, but it's his turn to gasp when, in one smooth movement he wasn't expecting, she shimmies out of her bra as well.

He doesn't look away, - couldn't even if he wanted to - just lets his gaze drink her in as she settles onto the bed again. She's more beautiful than any of the French postcards the soldiers pass around camp and Steve can't stop touching her. He's memorising her body with his hands, palms running along her curves until she's squirming and clutching at his arms, fingers bunching in the material of the shirt he really should get rid of.

“Steve—” She sounds as breathless as he feels when he ducks his head to press his lips to the dip of her clavicle, then continues down, taking his time to leave a trail of kisses down her chest. She tugs at his sleeves but he ignores her, too intent on exploring her body with his mouth, until she becomes more persistent. "Take it off." She instructs, but her tone lacks its usual bite. He's reluctant to move away and rushes to strip off his shirts - in his haste, one arm gets tangled in his sleeve and for a moment he thinks Peggy's going to laugh at him and the moment will be ruined.

She doesn't, although he can see her biting her bottom lip and is pretty sure that's the only thing stopping her. She sits up, helps him undress, then pushes him onto the bed, pulling his belt loose as soon as his back hits the bed covers. He frowns, a thousand images swirling around his brain that make his pants feel too tight, and thinks: this wasn't the position I was expecting. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised - it's Peggy, after all, and he's heard that some girls prefer it this way...Bucky had plenty of stories, after all—

—His breath catches in his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut against the memories. He feels Peggy move: her weight settling against his side, her lips against his cheek, her breath warm on his ear when she whispers, “I’m here.”

It’s only when her hand covers his that he realises his fingers are curled into a fist again, clutching air tightly because it’s all he has left. It takes effort to straighten them and when Peggy’s hand slips into his he’s worried about crushing her fingers – he doesn’t seem able to control his grip anymore – but she entwines their fingers and squeezes gently until he’s back with her.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, curling into her body and burying his face in the crook of her neck. She doesn’t smell like most girls, no fake sweetness of watery flowers, but more real, more familiar, like the pages of his sketchbook.

“There’s nothing to apologise for, Steve.” She curls her arm around his waist, rubbing soothing circles on his back until his muscles lose some of their tension. For a few minutes they just stay like that, wrapped around one another and not speaking, until Steve shifts, wriggling back until he can look Peggy in the eye.

“We could still...” He starts to say, trailing off as it occurs to him that maybe Peggy doesn’t want to anymore. He hopes he hasn’t ruined any chance he might have had with her. When she doesn’t say anything at first, he’s convinced he has. But when he starts to roll away, embarrassed, she squeezes his hand again, keeping him there. He shoots her a questioning look, which turns to one of relief when she lays her palm against his chest and leans in to kiss him softly. He returns it eagerly, parting his lips with a small noise of want when he feels her tongue swipe along his bottom lip.

He melts into the kiss, pressing forward with his whole body and moaning softly when Peggy slips her leg between his thighs. Her hand starts to move down his body and when she reaches his stomach she twists her wrist so that her fingertips brush against his waistband. With a gasp, Steve breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, and glances down between their bodies.

“Peggy—”

“Shh.” She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth then pulls back to watch his reaction as her fingers push lower. He’s blushing again, he’s sure of it, and his gaze flicks between her hand and her face, not knowing which he would rather watch. He doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until he releases it with a moan as her fingers slide into his underwear to loosely wrap around his growing erection. It’s the first time he’s had someone else’s hand on him and his hips jerk, his mouth falling open as she takes hold of him more firmly.

“O-oh…”

He swallows thickly as she starts to stroke him, assured, like she’s done this before—but he doesn’t want to think about that. Instead he just lets himself focus on what it feels like; how her hands aren’t quite as soft as they look, they’re slightly rough around the edges…like her. It feels good, but even though his pants are open they’re still restrictive, so he hooks his thumbs in his waistband and lifts his hips so he can push them down to his thighs, Peggy continuing to stroke him all the while. Being able to see what she’s doing is even better and Steve feels himself twitch in her grip, but it proves to be too much when she rubs her thumb over the head and his head falls back against her pillow.

“God, _Peggy_ —” He’s not usually one for using His name in vain, but he can barely think straight. He whimpers, hips circling as he thrusts up into her hand and she chuckles lowly, squeezing the base of his cock. He’s not going to be able to last much longer, he can feel that familiar sensation building low in his stomach and he tries to draw breath to warn Peggy, but as if reading his mind, she moves in closer, speeding her movements up at the same time as nipping at his throat, her lips closing around his skin as she sucks lightly. He cries out at the unexpected assault on his nerves, suddenly imagining the pull of wet warmth somewhere else, and his fingers curl in Peggy’s duvet. Her teeth scrape against his skin and he arches off the bed, cursing under his breath at his lack of control as he moans, long and low, and almost before his brain registers what’s happening, he’s coming.

He’s still shaking when he opens his eyes again a minute or so later to see Peggy looking down at him with an amused expression, her head propped on one bent elbow while her other hand traces lazy patterns on his stomach. When he notices what she’s making patterns _in_ he blushes darkly, but she doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Is that better?” She asks, quiet and kind and so genuine that it makes Steve’s chest ache.

“I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry, if you give me a secon—” He starts to babble, conscious of the fact that that’s not what he meant to say at all. He’d been going to thank her, to nod, to tell her how incredible that had been…but he was mortified that it was over so quickly, and that it had only been about him.

Peggy shushes him again, then leans over him to grab his undershirt where it’s half hanging off the bed. She uses it to clean her hand and then his stomach, dropping it onto the floor when she’s done and curling against his side again. “Another time, Steve.” She murmurs into the crook of his shoulder and Steve blinks.

“Another time…?

She nods, and he’s pretty sure he can feel her smiling.

“You still want to—?”

“ _Yes_ , Steve. Just…perhaps not tonight.” She takes his arm and drapes it around her middle, making a noise of contentment when he pulls her against his body. He’s very aware of his awkward state of undress, but can’t bring himself to care. Peggy’s in his arms and it feels so right that he’s afraid to move, not wanting to break the spell. “Tell me about your plan.” She says, and it takes Steve a moment to realise what she means.

“My…really?” It doesn’t seem like a normal thing to discuss after what they’ve just done.

“Mmhm.”

“Uh, okay?”

So he does. He rambles and interrupts himself as ideas occur to him and goes off on tangents but slowly a plan, a working plan, starts to form. He’s not sure how long he talks for but he continues until his voice starts to sound raspy. At one point he yawns, and thinks maybe Peggy has fallen asleep since she’s been so quiet, but when he looks down her eyes are open and she has that look of concentration that he’s been itching to get down on paper.

He steals another kiss, gathering Peggy into his arms as her hands frame his face, and it’s not long after that, when it’s been silently decided that he will stay the night and he’s rearranged his pants so he looks a bit more presentable and they settle down with Peggy’s head on his shoulder, that he realises why she wouldn’t sleep with him, why she had him talk himself to exhaustion instead. And he knows in that moment that he’s found in Peggy the perfect woman, the right partner.


End file.
